


Robb'd of youth

by DaughterofProspero



Category: Henry IV - Shakespeare, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Angst, Battle, Canonical Character Death, Death, Poetry, Swords, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofProspero/pseuds/DaughterofProspero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth!"</p><p>A reflection on the stolen futures of Hotspur, and so many other men...<br/>No: Boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robb'd of youth

Arm to arm off march the boys,  
Twigs in hand, knees scraped red;  
Foes are friends and swords are toys;  
Glory seeking, glory led.

Mothers of highborn and lowborn cry  
As their sons wail for mercy in voices unbroken;  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie  
Bleeding out decades of words never spoken 

Hand in hand off march the boys,  
Duty bound, and honour bent,  
Deaf to all but battle ploys,  
Ever needed, ever lent

Shorn of future, robb'd of youth,  
Lifeless tongue ‘gainst baby tooth;  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie  
Too young to fight, but never to die.

Row on row there stand the boys,  
Still unbloodied, still unhurt;  
Pictures of bravery, portraits of poise:  
Who sees tomorrow, who lies in the dirt?

Mothers of highborn and lowborn cry  
As their sons wail for mercy in voices unbroken;  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie,  
Bleeding out decades of words never spoken. 

Face to face up meet the boys,  
Limbs are shaking, nerves are raw;  
Cannon fire and screams white noise;  
Swords of steel, bones of straw.

Shorn of future, robb'd of youth,  
Lifeless tongue ‘gainst baby tooth  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie  
Too young to fight, but never to die.

Arm in arm off march the boys,  
Hand in hand off march the boys,  
Row on row there stand the boys,  
Face to face up meet the boys,  
Corpse to corpse there lie the boys...

Mothers of highborn and lowborn cry  
As their sons wail for mercy in voices unbroken;  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie  
Bleeding out decades of words never spoken.  
Shorn of future, robb'd of youth,  
Lifeless tongue ‘gainst baby tooth;  
In fields, on hilltops, in ditches they lie  
Too young to fight, but never to die.

**Author's Note:**

> *When I'm writing straight poetry I'm a real stickler for matching syllable counts in each line/couplet/what-have-you but because this is meant to be a song, it might not read as smoothly.  
> I'd never read Henry IV, either part. Never seen it, never knew much about it until a few months ago. The death of Hotspur was not only a genuine surprise, but a genuinely upsetting one. Something about it sent a chill down my spine and of all the deaths in Shakespeare, this one in particular really caught me off guard and hit hard. That line stuck with me. "O, Harry thou hast robb'd me of my youth". How young those "soldiers" were. And you can't brush it off 'cause it's not just a play. Kids were fighting, kids still ARE fighting in some places.  
> Might have been the production I saw was done by a youth troupe, so everyone was really young...I dunno. After I saw it I went home and wrote this.  
> "O, Harry thou hast robb'd me of my youth"  
> Jesus.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
